You Call This Romance?
By Stanley Collymore
The art of wooing is virtually dead and, instead,
what now passes for courting is nothing more than the
perfunctory and seemingly regulatory groping of the
chosen target’s body: their breasts, bottom and
a furtive hand pressed fortuitously and gratefully between
compliant and even complaisant legs, while robotic-like
tongues, darting hungrily from suction-compressed
but slobbering oral cavities, essay to bury
their way, amid the dregs of saliva, into
gaping-wide throats in a distinctly ostentatious and
supposedly intentional display of ardour. Is this what
romance has really come to? Effectively nothing
more than a spirited, concupiscent smash and grab
full of bestial emotions, but conspicuously
and sadly devoid of fine words, poetry
compliments and all the other
acknowledged forms of
civilized artistry?
© Stanley V. Collymore
22 March 2013.
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